


Key Harbor

by Shannon_Kind



Series: Hunting with Dee [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Original Character Death(s), casefic, cigarettes (mentioned), implied suicide attempt (of a minor character), season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7642807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shannon_Kind/pseuds/Shannon_Kind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters *should* be trying to stop the apocalypse they started by breaking the first and last seals. But since they can’t seem to catch a break, they spend a few days on the beach, investigating a shore town where blue lights are causing  strange cases of amnesia.  Even worse, people are remembering things that have never happened! </p><p>Sam watches his brother approach the marina door, only to have a hunter he’s never met step through the other side.  Meanwhile, Dean finds himself face to face with a Sam who doesn’t recognize him.  </p><p>Working with new partners, the brothers and an angel of the Lord (who’s still unclear on that whole “Free Will” thing) must find a way back to one another, preferably in time to avert the end of the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser - Summer Day Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> This work never would have been completed without the wonderful people at the [WIP Big Bang.](http://www.wipbigbang.livejournal.com/html/) After a two year hiatus, we are finished!
> 
> I'd like to thank Hannah, my first beta, who read the earliest drafts of this before I gave up.
> 
> Much love to [Red_B_Rackham](http://red-b-rackham.livejournal.com/) for the absolutely gorgeous artwork. I give her so much credit. I did a terrible job describing what I wanted to her, but she came through time and time again. See her work on [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/red_b_rackham/pseuds/red_b_rackham)
> 
> Also, to [destielonfire](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kaidanmono/pseuds/destielonfire), who seriously saved me over and over fixing the version you're about to read: so much love and endless gratitude.

[](http://imgur.com/ACqMYEA)

Pete Fulton slowly rode his bike home from work. Small for sixteen, he looked about three years younger than his age, but that didn’t matter. Working outside all summer had muscled and tanned his body nicely, not that anyone could tell under the layers of dirt and sweat from the day’s cleaning. By this time next year, he would have his license, and he wouldn’t have to work at the marina on the bay. He arrived at a narrow two story house and brought his bike inside. “Hey, mom! I’m home!”

Pete heard his mom call from the kitchen. “Go wash up for supper!” He smiled through slightly crooked teeth and headed upstairs.

The first door at the top of the stairs was closed, so he knocked before heading to the bathroom. “Hey, Ryan! Mom says wash up, dinner’s almost ready.” No response. Pete ran his hand through his sun-bleached curls. “Hey, kid! Come on!” He opened the door and stared in horror at what he found. “Mom!”

The thunder of Lindsey Fulton’s feet up the stairs broke through her son’s haze of horror. He turned toward her, but his gaze never locked onto hers. Lindsey had never seen her son’s face so pale, his eyes so wide and vulnerable. She peeked past him into the room, terrified of what she would find.

Everything looked in order. Her husband’s laptop was open on the desk; his books were neat, certificates on the wall. The office was fine. “Where’s Ryan’s stuff?” Pete accused. Lindsey looked at her son in shock. “Where’s my brother?” Her light blue eyes opened wide in hurt and confusion as her usually calm son pushed her against the wall. “What the hell is going on here?” he screamed. Lindsey reached out to her child, tears in her eyes, but he grabbed her arms and twisted his body, dragging her over to the stairs. She struggled and he lost his grip, watching as she tumbled down to the floor below.

Pete stared down the steps in horror at his mother, her neck bent at an impossible angle in front of a pair of black dress shoes that had just stepped through the front doorway. He looked up to see the business suit of his father, Andrew: gray eyes wide with shock, phone in hand. A tinny voice came through the speaker. “Nine one one. What is your emergency?”


	2. Act 1-Our Kinda' Case

Sam barely glanced up from his laptop as Dean opened the motel room door. Although he was the younger brother, Sam was big, almost too big to fit at the small nondescript table in this cheap room. The décor was supposed to be whimsically nautical, but it came off looking like an old lady’s shell-themed bathroom. “So get this,” he began, turning the screen around toward the doorway and his brother, “there have been two more patients admitted to the psych ward with amnesia.” 

Dean struggled through the front door with the key, bag of food, a large coffee, and some sort of chai iced tea. He dropped the food on the table and fished his brother’s vegetable egg white omelet off of his sausage breakfast burrito. “More freak thunderstorms?” he asked. For once, wearing a black tee shirt without his father’s leather jacket, he looked almost like any other young man headed to the Jersey shore for a few days of fun. But it had been a long time since Dean Winchester had last taken a day off. He peeled the wrapper off his breakfast and took a bite, finally glancing over the information on the screen in front of him.

“No, that’s just it. There’s no evidence of anything like that this time. The bank manager, Fredericks, takes her yacht out. Witness reports say there was ‘blue lightning’ just after she finished docking at the marina, and suddenly, she doesn’t remember she’s married. Ran away and called the cops because some stranger is in her house. But now we’ve got two more, no demonic omens. I’m thinking we’re looking for something else.”

“So now you don’t think this has anything to do with us breaking the final seal? So what, like some kind of freak that eats memories? No such thing. Are you sure this is even our kinda’ case?”

Sam cut him off with a shake of his head, and took a sip of the tea before continuing. “I still think so, Dean. This kid, Pete Fulton, his dad called the cops when he attacked his mom. He keeps saying his little brother has disappeared, and he seems to think his mom had something to do with it.”

“So mom eighty-sixes the ankle biter and now big brother’s in the nuthouse?” He spoke through his sandwich, but the younger brother didn’t seem to have any difficulty understanding him.

“No, no! Pete doesn’t have any siblings.” Sam paused for another drink. “But according to the psych reports, he’s convinced he has a seven year old brother named Ryan, and is desperate for anyone to go out and look for him. Hasn’t slept in two days. And,” Sam cut a piece of his omelet with his fork and speared it, stabbing it in the air for emphasis. Dean rolled his eyes. “According to hospital records, seven years ago, Mrs. Fulton gave birth. But her second son was stillborn.”

“Okay.” The older brother swallowed before continuing. “So we’ve got the kid, Mrs…” he double checked the name on the computer screen “Donna Fredericks, bank manager,” he smirked. “And who else?”

“Cop. Officer Damon Carlson; lived in Belmar all his life. Called into the station to report that he was going to check,” Sam turned the computer back towards himself and minimized the open window, revealing a digital copy of an official looking report, “quote, ‘blue lights on the water,’ and was found two hours later trying to break into his parent’s old house.”

“So the kid, he see these ‘blue lights’ too?” Sam nodded, his fork to his mouth. “Dammit. Here’s a hint, you see weird freaky shit, you stay the hell away, people!” Sam inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Alright, so what do they have in common?”

“Near as I can tell, our best bet is here.” Another click of the mouse and Sam was showing Dean a new screen. “Key Harbor Marina, owned by Mrs. Ellen Johnson.” The website displayed pictures of different boats to rent, and advertisements for tours, fishing trips, just about anything you could do on the water. “Pete worked there, Mrs. Fredericks owned a boat…”

“And it’s right on the bay,” finished Dean. “Okay. So what do you think? If it’s not a demon?”

Sam cleaned up his breakfast and threw out the trash. “I don’t know. Maybe some kind of ghost. Or a cursed object.”

“Hey, maybe it’s a mermaid,” said Dean, smiling.

“Yeah Dean. It’s a mermaid,” Sam deadpanned.  
~*~  
By nine o’clock, the boys were stepping out of the black Impala into the salty air of Belmar, New Jersey. Seagulls swarmed the trash bin on the sidewalk a few feet from the car. A curious gull limped over to check out the intrusion, but Dean shooed it away. Sam pushed his brown hair out of his face and straightened his suit jacket, checking to make sure that his pistol was stuck in the back of his belt. He glanced at Dean who was wiping sweat from his brow already.

“Damn feds need a new uniform. It’s the middle of freaking August here.” He jealously glared at the other beach goers in their short sleeved shirts.

“Well, let’s get this done and maybe we can get out of here before it gets really hot. You ready?” Dean grumbled something, but checked that both his gun and the machete hidden down his trouser leg were in place before leading the way into the marina.

“Hi, welcome to Key Harbor. How can I help you gentlemen today?” The woman who greeted them was a little over forty years old, with a professional pink smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Even in her short sleeved gray blouse, she was sweating already, but a wipe of her brow barely managed to stir her heavily hair-sprayed brown curls. Her lack of a ring pegged her as a perpetual bachelorette.

“Agent Fogerty, FBI. This is my partner, Agent Clifford.” The brothers flashed their badges. “Can you tell us anything about what’s been going on here?”

The woman wrung her hands. “It’s so sad. Peter has been working for me for two years now, going out on fishing trips as an assistant, cleaning our fleet after they came in, you know? He’s always been such a good kid. And Mrs. Fredericks not remembering Mr. Fredericks? They come out here every other weekend for a night out together, just the two of them. Honestly, I’m not sure why I even have this place open today, except it’s tourist season. I feel like I should be doing something, I don’t know.”

“Ms. Johnson,” began ‘Agent Clifford,’ pushing his long hair from his face again, “other than what’s been happening to Peter and Mrs. Fredericks, has anything unusual been going on in the marina? Anything new? Is there anyone who would want to hurt your business?”

“I don’t…No. We get customers that moor their boats here for a few days and leave again, but that’s pretty routine. I can’t think of anyone that would want to hurt the business. It brings in plenty of tourists, and it’s not like we have any local competition.”

“Thank you, Ms. Johnson,” said the other agent. “Do you mind if we have a look around?”

“Of course.” 

‘Agent Fogerty’ scanned the room. The front wall was a series of large windows keeping the room brightly lit. There was a door in the back behind the desk that appeared to lead to a small office, and a second door on the side of the building that was propped open to the bay. No wonder it was so hot in there. He headed into the office taking something black from his jacket pocket.

“Ms. Johnson, I would feel much safer if you went home for a while. Just until we can be sure there’s no gas leak, or something else in the building that might be causing these symptoms.” The woman gasped, but nodded. “Tell you what? You head on home, and I will personally give you a call when we finish up here.” She nodded again.

While Sam dutifully took down the owner’s home phone number, Dean began their work in earnest. He looked at the homemade EMF reader in his hand, and slowly walked around the room, well-practiced green eyes searching. The first few LEDs lit up on the top of the device when he brought it near the computer, but he ignored the background noise. Steady hands ran up and down the desk, the bookshelves, and molding, looking for movement or bumps that might hide voodoo, charms, or hex bags. The clean lines of the ultramodern office furniture made quick work of the room, and he headed back out to the front.

Leaning over the front desk, head deep in the crisp new ledger, Sam didn’t notice Dean come back in. “Anything?”

Sam looked up and shook his head. “It looks like they rebuilt this place recently. Some kind of fire. But I’ve got nothing else out of the ordinary. You?”

Dean began to search the outer room for electromagnetic waves. “Got me. No sulfur, no creepy-ass sigils, and EMF is coming up empty. As far as I can tell, monster’s maybe choosing his vics here, but it has nothing to do with this building.” He turned off the EMF reader and put it in his jacket pocket.

Sam pulled his eyes from the ledger long enough to stretch his back and turn to his brother. “Alright. I’ll stay here, look over the books. Maybe I can find something. Why don’t you head to the hospital and see if you can get anything from the victims?”

Dean was about to reply when a blue flash appeared at the front door. “You see that?”

“Yeah.” Both brothers drew their pistols, and Sam moved to the middle of the room. A few feet apart, the boys stood back to back, keeping visual track of the whole space. Eyes wide, adrenaline pumping, they looked for something to fight. Silently they waited, watching. Ten seconds. Twenty-five. A minute. Sam put up his gun, still wary. “What was that?”

“Damned if I know.” Dean pointed his gun down, but kept his finger near the trigger. Wouldn’t do for someone to pass by those big windows and see two grown men, guns drawn, aiming at nothing. He risked a glance at his brother but only saw similar confusion reflected back at him. “You forget anything yet?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t think so. You?” Dean mimicked the gesture, and moved to holster his gun.

Again, the front door lit up, as if a tube of blue neon had been turned on around the frame, and transparent blue waves shimmered between the moldings. The boys’ eyes followed as the neon arced from the front door to the windows, to the office door, and back, chasing itself around like a string of Christmas lights until it settled on the open bay door. Dean approached slowly, gun in his right hand, his left hand gesturing for Sam to stay back. Without warning, the lights jumped again, this time outside to a gate in front of a large boat.

Sam followed Dean out, both watchful. Seagulls cawed, but no one noticed the sound. Gentle waves buoyed the quiet form of the Amphitrite II, gently thrumming its keyhole trim decorations against the dock. On board, a tall man stood in a hood despite the heat, his face contorted into a grimace as he faced the blue lights. He brought his hands together, as the lights cracked and faded, and Dean broke into a run, sprinting up the ramp toward the man. Dean fired a shot, hitting his mark. Unfortunately the man hardly shuddered from the impact, and continued his spell work. Holstering his pistol, Dean drew the machete from his belt, the sheath still hidden beneath his dress slacks. Arms above his head, he heard “Dean, no!” as he swung the blade down. The man’s head severed from his shoulders and rolled to the deck.

“I got this,” said Dean, amused that his brother was warning him and turning toward the sound. He was too distracted to catch the bolt of power that emanated from the upraised hand of the creature before it crumpled to the ground. The fireball scorched a hole through Dean’s suit jacket and dress shirt, and singed his back. He turned and hissed in pain, watching the head settle for another second. Free from the hood, Dean could see that the monster he had killed had two faces, one on each side of its head. He poked it cautiously with the machete until he was certain it wouldn’t try anything again, the nodded with a pleased smirk on his face. “Dude, I killed Quirrel!” he said, holding up the head to display to Sam. A moment later, the head facing Dean opened its gold eyes, frowned, and disappeared, along with the body. “What the hell?!?”

“Dean, get back here.” Sam didn’t stop looking around, waiting for a golden eyed, two faced man to come jumping out at them. Dean walked down the ramp, sheathing his machete. Eyes still scanning for the monster, he didn’t notice the blue lights line the gate to the dock that he was about to walk through.

Sam shot a glance at his brother just as he broke into the blue waves between the lights. Dean seemed to shimmer in the air for a moment, and shrink before stepping through. Bright green eyes scanned Sam’s shocked face. “Jesus, Sammy. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” But the voice was too high pitched for Dean. It belonged to a young woman in a gray dress suit, dark blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun, although wisps were falling out around her face. She wore no jewelry except a ring on her right hand, a simple silver double band.

In a single breath, Sam lifted his gun again. “Who the hell are you?”

“Dude, what the hell?” asked the girl. She knocked the gun out of Sam’s hand and it skidded across the boardwalk. Sam grabbed her arms and tried to hold her, but she apparently knew how to fight a man bigger than her. Twisting, she brought her knee up into Sam’s groin and used his moment of pain to sweep his feet from under him, forcing him to the ground. Not willing to use a weapon on him, she pulled a zip tie from her skirt pocket and tied his hands behind his back. One knee on his back, she looked down into his face. “Let’s try this again, little brother. You forget anything yet?

[](http://imgur.com/dvYeO5l)


	3. Act 2-Soul of the Matter

_Eyes closed, Dean took stock. His wrists were bound to the arms of some kind of chair, but his legs were free. Something thick was running down the right side of his face from over his eye, and he knew it was blood. “I know you’re awake,” came Sam’s voice in the darkness. Letting out a sigh of relief, Dean opened his eyes, looking for his brother. The shift in his weight brought his burned back into contact with the chair, causing him to jerk slightly._

_The two men were the only ones in the familiar office. Dean breathed easier noticing his brother didn’t have many marks on him, although there was a swollen spot on his jaw that would probably bruise. As his eyes focused, he took in more of Sam. His brother was sitting in the desk chair with his arms folded across his chest, feet up on the desk, just waiting. “Sammy?” Dean asked thickly._

_Sam’s feet hit the floor with a sharp thump as he stood up. “How the hell do you even know my name?” he demanded, stepping in front of a blank-faced Dean. Sam stopped a few feet away from the other man, but crouched down to look him in the eye. “Get your shit together, because I’m only going to ask this once. Where is my sister?”_

[](http://imgur.com/eSmcu8Z)

_Dean raised an eyebrow. “Dude, what?” With two strides forward, Sam’s large hand swung wide and connected with Dean’s skull. Struggling to stay awake, Dean cursed. “That monster must have messed with your head man, just like those people in the psych ward.” Dean’s biceps flexed as he tried to free his wrists and get to his brother, who was stalking toward the other side of the room. “Just untie me, and we’ll figure this out, okay? Like we always do.”_

_Sam stopped mid-stride to stare at the man in the chair. “I’m sorry, what? ‘Always?’ Like we’re partners?” Keeping an eye on Dean, Sam paced the floor, pushing his fingers through his hair. “And you want me to believe that my sister, who practically raised me since I was six months old, is what? Dead? Or never born? And instead, Dad, or Bobby, or someone, paired me up with some-“ he gestured toward Dean in disgust, “male-modeling troglodyte grunt?”_

_Dean stopped struggling and shot an offended look at his brother. “Hey! I am not a gr- Wait. A frog-la-what?”_

_Sam didn’t answer for a moment, but when he spoke again his voice was low, and dangerous. He spoke slowly and clearly. “What did you do with my sister, Dee?”_

_“Dee? As in Deanna?” Dean’s gesture was aborted by the ropes holding him to the guest chair. “Like, Deanna Campbell, Deanna?” Sam gaped at Dean for a moment. Dean took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Damnit. That monster is trying to turn me into a chick.” Sam frowned, and only got half a word of protest out before Dean cut him off. “You don’t want to believe me? Fine. Call Cas. You still remember Castiel, right? Angel? Dark hair? Dirty trench coat?”_  
~*~  
The phone rang several times before Cas picked up. “Cas, man, where are you? Something’s wrong with Sam. I need your help.”

“Who is this?” The angel’s deep voice was especially gruff through the speakerphone.

Dee almost dropped the phone on her brother’s head. She sat on his back, keeping him pinned face down to the boards of the dock. He tried shaking her off, but she gently smacked the back of his head. He glared at her while she readjusted the phone back to her ear. “Look, Cas, I know you think- Hell, at this point I don’t have a clue what you think, and I…I’m sorry if you’re pissed at me, and I promise we can have whatever kind of grudge match you want when this is all over. But right now, I need your help.” She swallowed, choking on the confession. “I don’t know what to do here.”

The fit woman pulled an elastic hair tie from her bun, and her blonde hair fell, curling against her shoulders and brushing the top of the scorch mark and burn on her back. She looked down at her brother. He was shifting under her trying to gain leverage as his hands worked to slip out of the uncomfortable white plastic hoops. Dee’s voice gained strength as her tone turned urgent. “Something messed with his memories, man. What if it’s like ‘Men In Black,’ you know?” she demanded. “Where they keep zapping people’s memories until it fries their brains forever? What if it fried Sam’s brain, Cas?” She looked down at her little brother in concern. Sam took her moment of quiet to try to shout for the angel’s attention, but she nonchalantly knocked his head into the wooden dock. “Quiet. I’m taking care of it Sammy,” she promised.

“Where are you?” Cas growled through the phone.

Eyeing Sam warily, Dee pulled out her small black leather notebook and read off the address. The younger man stayed still on the ground below her. “We’re on the dock behind the building,” she added.

The soft whoosh of wings was almost inaudible over the waves against the dock’s support pillars, so the firm “Sam,” coming from the angel’s chapped lips caused both Dee and her brother to startle. Dee’s shoulder’s subtly relaxed as she took in the sight of him standing over her. Scrambling to her feet, she stood about two inches shorter than Castiel, despite the heels. His blue tie, still on backwards after almost a year, blew at an odd angle against his suit in the breeze coming off the bay. Seeing Cas’s familiar windswept dark hair and blue eyes, Dee started to feel like maybe, with an angel on their side, things might start to go their way on this case. Sure, Cas was cut off from heaven, but he must still have the juice to help Sam. She’d already ganked the monster. They could go back to hunting Lucifer and pretend that none of this shit ever happened.  
The angel threw a hard look in Dee’s direction before bending down and touching the plastic ties between Sam’s wrists with two fingers. The ties melted off, and he offered Sam a hand to stand up. Dee raised an eyebrow.  
~*~  
_“He doesn’t know who I am, Cas? What the hell?” Cas moved toward Dean, still tied to the chair, while Sam flipped his cell phone closed. He slowly walked around the chair, eyeing Dean like something dangerous. Dean gave him his best innocent smile. “You know, most people would untie their friends right about now.”_

_Cas came to an abrupt stop in front of the hunter. He loomed over Dean until their faces were just inches apart. “I am not your friend.”_

_The muscles in Dean’s jaw twitched for a moment, green eyes almost desperately searching blue for a sign of humor he knew he wouldn’t find, before an angry mask schooled his features._

_“Damnit, Cas! I’m Dean Winchester. You pulled my ass from Hell! Untie me, fix Sammy, and let’s go. We got work to do.”_

_Head tilted quizzically, brow furrowed, Cas raised two fingers toward Dean’s head. The hunter flinched backward, his frame tensing as his injured back pressed into the office chair, but Sam’s knots were strong, and Cas touched the hunter’s temple gently. He let out a relieved puff of air when Cas’s hand pulled back. “You have the same Enochian symbols I gave Sam and Dee,” he mused. Despite the other man’s protest, Cas lowered his hand to Dean’s chest and pressed inside. Dean screamed as an unearthly yellow aura surrounded the place where Cas’s arm met his body._

_Cas stood perfectly still for several moments, beads of sweat on his vessel’s forehead. More than once, Sam tried to approach the Angel, only to meet Castiel’s warning glare. Finally, after three long minutes of silent, tense waiting, Cas pulled his hand away, shoulders drooping heavily._

_Dean did not move. His eyes were closed, his face pale and drawn. Slowly Cas looked up, blue eyes meeting hazel. “This is not your sister.” Sam’s stare was almost blank as he waited for the angel to start making sense. “This man has a soul that matches hers perfectly. Down the last detail.” The angel glanced back at the unconscious man with a look approaching awe on his face. “The last stitch from when I put her back together in Hell.”_

_“Whatever’s at work here, it’s more powerful than any angel I’ve ever seen,” he told Sam, ”except maybe an archangel.” Cas seemed to stare at nothing as he processed what he had gleaned from Dean’s soul. “Based on the evidence, and what you said you were searching for here, I believe this may be your Dee, from a universe where she is male. But even angels cannot break through those barriers.” Noticing Dean begin to stir, Cas moved to untie his bonds. He looked back and forth between Sam and this new man, whose body was so strange, but whose soul was so familiar. “What have you two gotten us into?”_  
~*~  
Dee was rolling her neck and shoulders while they walked inside through the bay door. Despite the trauma her soul had undergone, she was moving quickly, outpacing both of the men despite their longer legs. She bruskly passed through the office, grabbing the handle to the front door and yanking it open. She pulled back when she heard her brother cry out in surprise. She turned to see both Sam and Cas had stopped abruptly, staring at the Windows. The blue lights had returned, ringing the windows one by one as if trying to gain footing. She jumped back from the doorway. “Stay away from the lights!” she ordered.

Castiel stepped forward anyway, intent on getting a closer look. Still, he kept a respectful distance from the dancing lights. “Is this what you saw before? What allowed Dee to travel to this world?”

Sam nodded, looking around for the gold eyed man that must have returned. “Yeah, Dean stepped into those lights and she came out.” The words held just a hint of distrust, and Dee’s jaw tightened in response, but her eyes stayed focused on the light show in front of her until the lights settled on the open front door in front of her. Dee drew the machete again, her lips set in a determined line. 

A seagull landed just outside the door, flapping its wings. It limped towards the door. “Not you again,” grumbled Sam. “Get out of here.” But this time the bird didn't listen. When it stepped in through the door, it's limp was gone. The hunters and the Angel ignored the bird for another moment, still looking for the two headed monster, but he never appeared. Even the lights around the door fizzled out, like an old tv with the power cut.  
~*~  
_Sam holstered his gun and made for the door. “We need to get out of this place.” His determined strides startled the gull outside and into flight. “We need to figure out what the hell is going on here, and fast.”_

_Dean stopped him. “Are you kidding? The first thing we need to do is keep people out of here. There’s already four of us, that we know of, running around. Clearly this thing’s not done playing games.”_

_Sam nodded. “We have some caution tape in the trunk. I'll make a couple of phone calls after we get this place roped off.”_

_Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he made it to the familiar Impala and ran his hands over the trunk of the car, smiling just a little at the familiar sight._

_“Dee had the keys on her.”_

_Dean startled hearing Sammy’s voice. “Huh? Oh!” He hesitated for a moment, and grimaced at some private thought as he slipped a finger through the keyring from his suit jacket and pulled it out. “You think my keys will work?” He opened his hand, exposing the car keys and the attached silver-plated round, but something else dropped to his feet and clattered on the ground. He bent over and picked it up, confusion evident on his face._

_It seemed to be a key, well, kind of. It was longer than the keys on his keychain, and looked old. Blue-ish green corrosion thickly covered the round head of the key, which was a little larger than a quarter. Whatever it was supposed to have opened once, the rust on the shaft probably wouldn’t even fit into the keyhole at this point. “What is it?” asked Sam._

_“Not sure,” he replied, handing it over the trunk of the car to where Sam stood on the sidewalk._

_“It’s not mine,” Sam said, taking the key and running a thumb over the head. He frowned as he studied the small object._

_“Anything?” the older hunter asked after a moment._

_“I don’t know?” Sam shrugged. “Get the tape,” he directed, gesturing toward the trunk with his shoulder, although his eyes never left the key._

_Dean held up his key in a hopeful gesture, then lowered it and tried the lock. The key turned smoothly. Sam pocketed the mystery item and the two hunters began unloading what they needed from the trunk._  
~*~  
Dee smiled, one job done, and slid into her familiar spot in the car while Sam and Cas took their own seats. Her hands stroked the steering wheel lovingly. “Knew I could always count on you, Baby.”

Sam stiffened in the passenger seat. “My brother’s pretty possessive about his car. Maybe I should drive.”

Dee scoffed as she slid her heels off and placed them on the seat between her and Sam. “What, you think I can’t drive because I’m a woman?” she teased. She laughed as Sam fumbled for words that wouldn’t make him look even worse, and laughed even harder when she adjusted the seat so she could reach the gas, causing his legs to bend in an uncomfortable position. “I was helping fix this girl up when you were still in diapers, Gigantor. Relax. Your big brother will come home to find her in great shape.” Sam grumbled quietly. “You want to switch with the angel there, Sasquatch?”

“I’m fine,” he said petulantly, pulling the corroded key back out of his pocket. Sam tried scraping the rust from the key while Dee turned on the cassette player, Led Zeppelin filling the tan interior. “Hey Cas, there’s something imprinted on here. Can you make it out?” He reached over the bench seat so the angel could get a better look.

It was several minutes before Cas spoke again. “It’s old,” he finally observed as Dee pulled the 67 Chevy Impala into the motel parking lot.

Dee rolled her eyes as she slipped on her shoes to get out of the car. “Well you check that out,” she said. She stood and rolled her shoulders. “In the meantime, I need to get out of these clothes.” The hunter flung off her ruined suit jacket as the angel and her brother joined her in the summer sun. “God, I can’t move in this skirt.”  
~*~  
_As soon as they got into the hotel room, Dean stripped his jacket and tie. He was unbuttoning his charred shirt before he noticed Sam’s stare. “What?”_

_“You’re just going to get undressed?” he asked incredulously. “In front of me? In front of Cas?”_

_“We’re all dudes, Sam. I’m just changing my shirt.” He glanced at the angel, who had already made his way to the table, intent on the small object in his hands. “He doesn’t seem to have a problem with it.” Sam rolled his eyes and headed for the bed further from the door to grab his duffle bag._

_Dean pulled his shirt off and grabbed for the other duffle bag, lying at the foot of the bed closest to him. The hunter slid down the zipper and flipped open the bag. “Son of a bitch.” He held up the first thing he found on the top: a fitted AC/DC shirt that would just about get around his leg, let alone his torso. The next item wasn’t much better when he pulled it out to examine it. The denim shorts were cut off very short and had a black leather belt already wound through the loops. “Do girls still even wear these?”_

_Sam grabbed the clothes away from Dean’s hands. He’d only partially changed into a gray t shirt, but was still wearing his suit pants. “Get out of my sister’s stuff, you perv,” he huffed, as he threw everything haphazardly into the duffel and zipped it._

_Dean held his hands up, backing away in surrender. “Hey Cas, buddy? You got anything on that key yet?” he half joked, headed toward the table. The older hunter kept his eyes on Sam, who was still holding Dee’s things, seething._

_“Actually, yes.” The key Cas was holding was much cleaner than it had been only a few minutes before, now with only a slight green patina to the copper. “There’s definitely some kind of marking on here,” he continued._

_Dean took the opposite chair and plucked the key from the angel’s hand. “What is that? Some kind of bundle? Like hay or something? Did I get the key to a farm or something?”_

_Sam came up behind him holding a v-neck t shirt, which he threw on the table in front of Dean. “Put some clothes on,” he insisted as he grabbed the key to examine for himself. Dean rolled his eyes but got up and took the shirt. Sam slid into the chair he had vacated. “Those are spikes of wheat,” he said, noticing the tufts on the top edges of the bundle. He laid the key back on the table and opened his laptop, loading the SearchTheWeb.com page. A few key words and he was turning the computer around to show his findings to Dean. “Look familiar?”_

_Dean pulled his arm through the too-large shirt and moved back to the table to examine the computer screen. The search engine had pulled up a number of coins, each showing a profile view of a two headed man. Or actually, a god. “Portunes? What the hell is that?”_

_Sam shrugged. “Roman god, looks like. Patron of harbors, store houses, war... But what does that have to do with us? Why would he take my sister?”_

_Castiel folded his hands together on the tabletop. “Portunes is also the god of doors and gateways. He would have the power to create an opening between the worlds.” He looked up at Sam. “I believe he could bring your sister back. We should try to contact him.”_

_Dean blushed and exchanged a glance with Sam, who looked sheepish. “I may have cut his head off,” Dean admitted._

_“Dee too,” added Sam. He looked imploringly at the angel across the table. “Tell me there’s another way to get her back, Cas. Isn’t there another god we could summon? Or a spell?”_

_“It’s not that easy,” Cas informed them, his bitchface a rival for Sam’s. “But,” he mused, “gods don’t just die. There are many stories of the deaths of the gods, and they always come back. Osiris, Adonis, Dionysus- just to start. We simply need to find a way to bring back Portunes. Logically, we should be able to summon him on his feast day.”_

_“OK, Sam breathed, typing again. “August 16th. We have two days.” He looked between his brother and the angel. “How do we summon a dead god?”_


	4. Act 3-Doctor's Orders

Dee kicked her legs up and sprawled with her back against the pale green shell-shaped headboard of the motel bed. She was wearing a pair of Sam’s jeans, which were far too long (but Dean’s had been a little too slim in the hips), and one of Dean’s black t shirts, Duane Allman playing guitar on the front. Her eyes followed Sam as she nursed her El Sol. 

The other hunter was across the room, worrying a moat into the motel carpet. His long legs ate the room in six strides before he turned and worked his way back. On his fourth pass, he stopped short, face to face with the angel that had just appeared. Both he and Dee jumped, the latter spilling much of the remaining beer on the borrowed shirt as she sat up a little straighter in the bed.

Castiel held out a large royal blue cloth, which he had folded into a bag. There was a something heavy straining at the bottom of the make-shift package, but the angel lifted it easily to put it on the table. Despite his gentle motions, it landed with a loud thump that shook the table. “This contains nearly everything you need to complete your spell tomorrow,” he said, glowering at Sam. The taller man ignored the face and unfolded the cloth to reveal the heavy clay pot on a brass stand that had been forged to look like grain. A thick patina showed its age. A corked glass flask inside the pot held thick yellow oil, in which various herbs could be seen floating. An old Roman coin had settled to the bottom. Runes and symbolic markings were done in black ink on the blue cloth. Bundles of sage, or maybe it was tarragon, were also piled inside the bowl. “It will require an additional sacrifice. Portunes requires a key.”

Dee shrugged. “We got that covered. Motel room key, the one we found. I’m sure we’ll be fine. Thanks, Cas.”

The angel’s face hardened further when he looked at her. “I doubt will be sufficient. Neither of those requires sacrifice on your part. This is a ritual to bring an ancient god back from the dead. The power lies in the emotional ties to the object.”

“Shit,” said Sam, looking at Dee, eyes wide in realization.

Dee didn’t react for several long seconds, but realization slowly creeped over her face, followed by rage. “Like hell, Cas. I am not giving up the keys to Baby!” she shouted, standing up and striding toward the angel.

Castiel stared the small woman down, not backing away from her. “It is, of course, your choice. My father gave you free will. You can choose to sacrifice the keys to your vehicle, or choose remain here.” Dee’s expression fell. She looked at Sam, then at the spell ingredients on the table. Castiel turned to face Sam in the meantime. “Sam, I trust you will have everything returned to normal before long,” he said with a nod toward the hunter. “Dee,” he addressed the woman, still standing far too close in each other’s personal space. “It has been…an experience,” he intoned in farewell.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going, flyboy?” she asked irritated, grabbing his tie and pulling him down to her eye level. Cas’s eyes widened as he surprised himself by bending down to her level, despite his angelic strength. “You can’t just lay this ‘give up your car’ crap on me and then whoosh off!”

Cas took a deep breath and glared at her, catching her bottle green eyes with his own. “I do not know that everything in our worlds runs along the same parallel,” he said, removing his tie from her hands and straightening it against his shirt as he stood tall. “However, here, Lucifer has risen, and it is imperative that we stay one step ahead of him.”

The girl laughed at that, a hard and forced. When she recovered, she turned away and walked to the bed. She glanced back at the angel as she settled herself back into bed, false and flirty smile firmly in place. “So I guess that means you won’t be walking me home, handsome?” She laughed at Cas’s scowl, but this one was more subdued.

Sam stepped into Cas’s line of sight. “We need Dean to fight Lucifer, Castiel. *I* need Dean. Please, help me get him back.” He pleaded with his eyes as well as his words, the long fingers of his hands held up placatingly in front of him. Behind Sam, Dee looked away, her hands fiddling with the bedsheets.

Cas took a moment to consider, looking between the pleading hunter and the girl on the bed who was now nervously playing with the still damp spot of beer on her shirt. “I will help you, Sam. Although I fail to see what good I can do while we wait for Portunes’ feast day.”

Dee looked up with a smile on her face. “Don’t worry about it, Cas. We’ve got plenty of breaking and entering to do before then. But I think first, we need to go shopping.”  
~*~  
_Dean smirked as he turned back and forth slowly, admiring himself in the dressing room mirror. He was wearing medical scrubs, the top a darker blue than the bottom. He practiced his smolder into the mirror. “Well, hello, Doctor Sexy,” he whispered loudly, flirting with his reflection._

_“Dean, you ever coming out of there? You take longer than my sister!” Sam’s voice reverberated through the door._

_“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he grumbled back, pulling the v neck shirt over his head._

_When Dean finally came out of the dressing room, Sam was waiting at the register, a bag of clothing already in hand. Castiel stood nearby, impatiently staring out the front windows. “Sorry about that,” he murmured, grabbing his wallet from the over-large, borrowed pants while the young cashier rang up his purchases. Sam just rolled his eyes._

_“I don’t see why you need additional clothes,” said the angel, still not looking at the hunters. “You would normally wear suits, why purchase medical clothing?”_

_“Because the suit I have here is…” Dean stalled, realizing they were in public. “It doesn’t exactly fit nice,” he finished lamely as the young man recited the total and asked for payment. Dean handed over the first credit card in his wallet without looking. “It will be fine, Cas.”_

_“I’m sorry, sir, your card has been declined.” The kid smiled at the shorter hunter, showing braces which he was probably a little too old for. Dean held his hand out for the card so he could match the name to the next card he pulled out._

_It took him a few tries to find one that matched, but when he did it was declined again. “Son of a bitch!”_

_“Relax,” said Sam with a long-suffering sigh. “I should have thought about that. I’ll pay.” He took out his own card and the items were quickly purchased._

_“Aww, thanks Sammy,” said Dean, batting his eyes like a blushing date to tease his baby brother._

_Instead of teasing back, Sam stopped short, anger flashing in his hazel eyes. “Don’t you ever call me Sammy,” he said, jaw twitching with barely suppressed emotions. “Only my sister gets to call me that.”_

_Dean quirked an eyebrow, standing strong against the taller man’s stare down. “Of course, Sasquatch. Whatever you say.” Sam turned and strode toward the door, walking outside without a look back. Castiel looked between Dean and Sam for a moment, before following the younger hunter’s path. It wasn’t until both of the other men had moved away that Dean allowed his shoulders to sink, the façade falling away. He took a deep breath, rubbed his face, and shook his head. After a moment to gather himself, he stood straight and headed out the door._  
~*~  
Dee stood next to a nondescript entrance at the back of the hospital, swiftly tapping an open cigarette carton against her blue scrub pants. Her dark blonde hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, and a fake nurse ID badge was clipped to the top, the same blue as the pants, but with little rainbows in a pattern over all of the material. She looked up when the door opened, and smiled at the not unattractive man who stepped through, a maintenance ID clipped to his own scrubs. “Got a light?” she asked, stealthily sliding a rock into the doorframe with her foot so it wouldn’t close all the way. The man’s gray eyes locked on hers with a predatory smile.

“For you? Anything,” he said, offering a lighter. “Although we do work in a hospital, I should probably be warning you against those.”

She smiled before inhaling, the end of the cigarette glowing. “I take care of myself in other ways,” she purred. “Lots of exercise.” She smiled as his eyes drifted over her breasts, and then lower. “I was just going to take a walk, if you want to join me,” she suggested, nodding towards a wooded area a few yards from the building. The doctor stared after her for only a second as she sauntered toward the trees, hips swaying to some internal rhythm. With a small smile, he caught up to her and disappeared into the foliage.

Castiel and Sam looked around cautiously as they made their way to the door recently vacated by the doctor and Dee. Sam was wearing maroon scrubs. He drew the line at rainbows. The angel still wore his suit, he hadn’t even bothered to turn his tie around. The hunter opened the door and checked inside before leading the angel into the building.

Only minutes later, they returned, each carrying white bundles in their arms. They were just in time to see the doctor sauntering back to the door, looking disheveled and a little dazed. Sam nodded professionally to him on his way out, moving the rock out of the way with his foot so the door would close completely behind the doctor.

He and Castiel stood awkwardly at the door for a moment until Dee came bouncing toward them from the tree line, her hair and makeup somehow still perfect. Sam stared at her for a moment. “So…what do you do when the doctor isn’t a man?” he asked.

She smiled, a gesture to ruffle her brother’s hair aborted by his startled look. She shrugged it off. “That’s what I have you for,” she said playfully. “I taught my brother everything he knows.” Sam looked both surprised and horrified, but Dee rolled her eyes at him. “Son of a bitch! Not that way. But here’s the real question:” she said, taking the lab coat and ID that Cas had been carrying for her and sliding it on over her scrubs, “What do you and your brother do when you have to flirt with a guy?” Sam looked shocked, his mouth hanging open. He looked to Cas, but the angel was deeply engrossed in studying the strange key again. Funny, he didn’t have it out a second ago. Sam tried to stammer an answer once or twice, before finally settling on a face that displayed pure annoyance. “Don’t tell me,” she said, laughing happily, her whole body arching with humor. Sam refused to look at her, instead concentrating on putting his own lab coat on over the scrubs. “You make it into a pissing contest, don’t you?” Sam’s bitchface ratcheted up two or three degrees, but he still refused to look her in the eye. “You know, you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, Sammy.” He blanched, but she soldiered on, reaching up to adjust his lab coat before leading the two men to the front of the building. “Cas, you sure you’re good with this?”

He reached into his trench coat pocket, touching something before nodding. “I believe I will be able to perform adequately.”

“OK,” said Sam, a smile on his face that did not ring true. “Let’s do this.”  
~*~  
_Castiel led the way through the double glass doors of the mental health building, trench coat billowing out gently behind him. Sam and Dean, lab coats open over their blue and maroon scrubs, followed at his heels. The Pakistani woman at the front desk barely looked up as the three men entered. She was fairly young, maybe mid to late twenties. The reception badge pinned to her chest identified her as Jacqueline Chaudhri. Dean gave her a flirty smile, to which she rolled her eyes. “Doctor Cook,” said Cas, pulling an identification card from his jacket pocket. She took it with her well-manicured brown hands, barely suppressing another eye roll. “CDC,” he continued. With that she sat up much straighter. “These are my associates, Doctors Fogerty and Clifford. We are here about your amnesia patients, Fulton, Carlson, and Fredericks.”_

_“One moment,” she indicated, picking up the phone. Cas shifted uncomfortably through the short conversation, face set in a grim line. The wait was only a few moments. “They’re being moved to isolation. We hadn’t realized this was something the CDC would get involved in. If you’d like, you can speak to Doctor Washington while you wait to see the patients?”_

_Castiel glanced back towards Sam, who almost imperceptibly nodded. “That would be acceptable.” The taller Winchester cleared his throat behind the angel. “Thank you,” Castiel added._

_The woman gave directions to the office in a brisk professional manner, and Castiel led the two boys down the hallway. Dean followed for about four steps before turning back to the beautiful receptionist. “So, Jacqi… I was wondering if after-“_

_“You’re cute, but no,” the woman shot him down, gently but firmly._

_“Are you sure?” he asked, his green eyes smiling._

_She laughed. “It’s a loss,” she said, displaying the two gold bands on her ring finger, “but I think my wife would be more than a little upset.”_

_Dean’s eyes went wide for a moment, but he collected himself quickly, and shook his head in disappointment. “Oh well. Can’t blame a man for trying. Nice meeting you, Jacqui.”_  
~*~  
“You sure you want to do this, Castiel?” asked Sam, standing outside the doors to the isolation wards. The corridor was stark, the walls an unwelcoming greenish-gray. Sam's words echoed hollowly as orderlies went about their business in the distance. “We have all of tomorrow too, you can just follow one of us, let us do the talking for now.”

The angel’s face barely changed, but if someone was watching closely, they might see his eyes narrow in displeasure. Dee took a step back, an amused grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I am an Angel of the Lord. A soldier. You asked for my help, but are trying to imply that I will not be useful.”

Sam had the grace to blush. “Of course not. Why don't you speak to Mrs. Fredericks, the banker, and Dean and I will meet the two of you when we’re finished?”

Castiel nodded and pushed through the industrial steel door, not even bothering to cover his mouth with the paper mask hanging around his neck.

The inside of the room was little better than the hallway. High gloss cream colored walls, easier to clean, affronted the eyes. The bed was a modern medical monstrosity, and various monitors sat beside it, most of which were idle. The lone occupant of the room was a woman in her late thirties, her red hair piled artfully on top of her head. Instead of reclining, she sat with her legs neatly crossed over the side of the bed, her eyes glued to a back issue of Enterprising Women. The woman looked up as Castiel approached the bed. “Oh, I thought you’d be that nice nurse. He said he'd bring me something to drink.”

“No, I apologize. My name is Doctor Cook, Mrs. Fredericks.”

The woman frowned, a streak of anger flashing through her honey-colored eyes. “I know none of you believe me, but I swear I don't know that man. If you refuse to call me Ms. Shanahan, please just call me Donna.”

Castiel took a step forward and awkwardly placed his hand over the woman’s on the bed. She removed her hand quickly. “I do believe you, Donna, this is no sickness of the mind or body.”

Donna let out a sharp laugh. “So you’re leaning towards conspiracy, I take it? What kind of doctor are you, anyway.”

The angel backed up two paces, cocking his head to the side. “I apologize again, I was being less than honest. I do believe you, because I know what you say to be true. I am not actually a doctor, I am an Angel of the Lord.” The woman’s expression stayed completely calm and benign through this speech, but her hand inched toward the nurse call button attached by a cord to the bed she was seated on. Before she could blink, the angel had pulled the button from beneath her hand and ripped the cord from the wall. The woman gasped and looked around the room desperately. “I mean you no harm,” said Castiel, bringing the shadow of his wings onto the earthly plane and spreading them wide before the awestruck woman. “Others from your world have also traveled here. My only intention is to send you home.” He reached for the woman like she was a timid rabbit, unafraid for himself, but respectful of her fear.

Two outstretched fingers gently touched the banker’s forehead, and she gasped. The sound cut out halfway, leaving an empty room, disconnected monitors powering down, seemingly of their own accord, with soft electronic whispers.  
~*~  
_Peter Fulton did not get up when he heard the knock on the door. He lay supine on the sterile hospital bed, his arms held out at awkward, but not uncomfortable angles beneath the thin white sheet, his face passive as he gazed unseeing out the window._

_The door opened slightly to reveal the head of Dean Winchester, as he peeked into the room, taking in the medical equipment. “Peter Fulton?” he asked, stepping into the room. “My name is Dean Fogarty, and I’d like to talk to you about what happened the other day._

_The boy rolled his head over to face the scrub-clad man. All the sparkle from his eyes were gone. “Forgive me for not getting up,” he said bitterly, as he lifted his arms only an inch or two off the bed beneath the covers._

_“Can I...?” asked Dean. When the boy shrugged and looked away, Dean pulled the covers away from his body. The teenager was dressed in a white tee shirt and light blue scrub pants beneath the sheet, but that was hardly the most noticeable thing. Thick brown cuffs circled each of Pete’s wrists, each one running under the mattress. Dean’s mouth opened into an ‘O’ of shock as he took in the inflamed red lacerations slowly healing on the boy’s arms._

_“What the hell happened?” he asked, all pretense of professionalism gone for the moment. Dean let the sheet fall, but the restraints and injuries stayed exposed. The teen in the bed didn't turn to the hunter, but his jaw set in a stiff line as he stared out the window. Dean pulled a rolling stool out from underneath the bed and sat on it, rubbing his hands over his face. “Look kid, I get it. You got a shit deal. You come home, knock your mother down the steps--”_

_Pete tried to sit up, but the restraints held him flat to the bed. “My mom never got hurt,” he interrupted. “Listen, I came home from work, went inside, and Mom told me to wash up for dinner, so I went upstairs. Someone was coming out of Dad’s office. Just some punk kid, you know, going through his stuff. So I tried to stop him. I didn't mean for him to…” His words faded off, and when he continued it was barely above a whisper. “I just wanted to stop him.”_

_“The brother?” asked Dean. Pete shrugged but nodded, apparently finished talking. “I know it sounds crazy right now,” the hunter explained, “but there really are different dimensions. I'm from the same one you are. You don't have to live like this. We can get you back.”_  
~*~  
Pete’s head fell back on the bed in defeat. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, turning away from the female hunter sitting next to him.

Dee stood up, placing a hand over the boy’s own. “Hey, no way. Don’t start talking like that. Of course it matters. You and me, we don’t belong here. We’re going home,” she insisted.

When the boy looked at her again, his eyes were wide open and welled up with unshed tears. “You know what matters?” he spat. “There’s another me out there somewhere. And I killed his mom. So I just get to go home and live some perfect little life the rest of my days, trying to get that image out of my head?” Dee opened her mouth to speak, but Pete cut her off. “You ever do anything you aren’t proud of, lady?”

Dee smirked, a cocky reply springing to her lips. One look at the broken boy next to her though, and she bit it back with a sigh. “Yeah, I did. More than you can imagine. Guess that’s just part of growing up.”

“And did you ever leave someone else to clean up your mess?”

Dee sighed. “Nah, kid. We clean up our messes.” The boy nodded, resigned. He laid his head back against the pillow and turned away. Now that the woman couldn’t see him, the tears he couldn’t wipe away streamed freely sideways down his face. The hunter waited a minute for him to turn around. A few times she opened her mouth to speak, but always closed it before she could form the words. After a few moments she walked to the door, her sensible white shoes moving silently on the tile floor. When she opened the door, she turned back to him. “I’ll check in on your brother, make sure he’s doing alright.” She stood at the door another moment, tactfully not mentioning the quiet gasping sobs coming from the bed. Finally, with a nod and a squeeze of her lips that she might have meant as a reassuring smile, she closed the door and walked away from Peter Fulton.  
~*~  
_Officer Carlson sat on the hospital bed in a white shirt and a pair of navy blue pajama pants. He looked little like his picture from the Internet. His strong dark brown jaw and handsome features were obscured with several days’ worth of salt and pepper scruff. His once clear eyes were bloodshot from tears of frustration. He rubbed the base of his left ring finger absently while talking to the younger Winchester, who stood next to the bed reading the officer’s medical chart. “I know it sounds crazy, doc, but this is some Level III Max Tegmark shit.”_

_“Sorry, who?” asked Sam, clipping the chart back on the end of the bed._

_“He was on that documentary, ’Parallel Worlds, Parallel Lives,’” he explained. “Because I swear, it had been a weird ass day, crazy blue lights, and I just wanted to get home to my wife. But when I get there, she isn't at the house. None of our stuff is there.” Sam nodded sympathetically. “They're telling me I was never married. Something about inheriting my parents’ house when my mother died four years ago.” He practically growled as he grabbed his wallet from the side table and showed Sam the pictures inside. The handsome officer with a beautiful ebony woman. In some they were holding hands. In others she had her head on his shoulder. She was always smiling. “Cheryl is real, and I will be going home to her.”_

_Sam smiled. “Yes, officer, you will be. And I am going to help you.”_


	5. Act 4-Going Home

The Impala pulled off of the residential street onto a side road, heading away from the tourist areas of town. Sparse traffic gave way to non-existent as the vehicle traveled among bleak buildings and warehouses, instead of the charming cottages and hotels that seemed to make up most of the town. Officer Carlson and Donna Shanahan sat quietly in the back seat. Every once in a while their gazes would meet, and they’d look away again. The officer gave the banker a reassuring smile, and went to reach for her hand on the seat between them. Donna returned the smile, but put her hand in her lap without acknowledging his movements. In the passenger seat, Sam Winchester ended a call on his cellphone. 

“And?” prompted Dee from the driver’s seat. 

Sam took a deep breath. “And…” he repeated, “Cas is already there with the supplies. He’s going to try to set up the spell, but he can’t cast it until tomorrow.” 

In the back seat, Officer Carlson looked up from where he was sitting behind Sam. “That means we can go home tomorrow.” 

~*~

_Dean glanced in the rearview mirror. “That’s the plan. But I have to warn you guys, it isn’t exactly going to be the Hilton.”_

_Sam sighed as the woman in the back tried to hide a frown. “What Dean is trying to say, is that we can’t promise much as far as tonight’s accommodations. We have to be there first thing in the morning, and this guy appears in warehouses, so…”_

_Officer Carlson put on a smile. “I’m sure it will be just fine, boys. It will only be for one night, and then we’ll be going home to our families.”_

_Dean grimaced, and when he spoke, his voice was full of the same false cheer as Carlson’s. “That’s the plan, sir. Could use to see my family again, too.” He pulled the Impala in front of a dingy looking, abandoned building. “Here we go. Home sweet home, for tonight at least.”_

_Damon exited the car first and walked around, opening the door for Donna and offering her a hand. This time, she took it, her heels crunching in the gravel. Dean and Sam got out too, and led them into the warehouse where the angel was waiting in an open dock._  
~*~  
Sam glared at Dee over the makeshift table of stacked pallets until she stopped playing with the glass bottle and moved away to check on Mrs. Fredericks. The redhead appeared to be doing some sort of modified yoga warrior pose, despite the navy pencil skirt she was wearing. The banker attempted to smile for the blonde briefly, before bringing herself back into focus and shifting her weight into a modified triangle pose. Dee muttered something about flashing all the men in the room, but wandered away to a corner of the room to check her gun and clean her machete. 

Sam shrugged while he watched Dee begin the precise and militaristic routine, then turned back to his work. The table was already laid out with the blue cloth acting as a table cover. He carefully adjusted the bowl in its stand onto the center of the table and uncorked the bottle. Then he poured a generous libation around the bowl, grimacing slightly. “What is that smell?” he asked. 

Castiel came up behind him lighting one of the dried herb bundles. “The oil contains urine from a nearly extinct species of pika.” He blew out the flame and allowed the smoke to curl gently up from the bundle, making sure it continued to smolder before putting the herbs into the pot. 

“Are you sure you’ll be able to manage the incantation, Cas? Latin is a dead language. A lot of people can write it, but no one really knows if the pronunciation is correct. 

Cas squinted at Sam. “Enochian is the basis of all languages, ancient and modern. Yes, Sam. I am sure I can ‘manage’ the incantation just fine.” 

Sam nodded and made minute adjustments to a few of the items on the table, setting the bottle of oil to the right of the bowl. “So...I guess we’re ready.” 

“One ingredient is still missing,” said the angel, pulling the keys to the Impala from his trench coat pocket. 

“Where did you get that?” the Winchester asked. He studied the key with its bullet keychain with a nostalgic expression, before separating the ring and removing the key. 

Castiel fussed with the items on the table, “I may have removed it from Deanna’s pocket last night while she slept. I know she wants to go home, but I am not certain that she is ready to part with this without help.” The angel watched his companion stare quietly at the key for a moment. Then he cocked his head to the side, and turned to glance at Dee, who was finishing field dressing her arsenal. “She misses her brother.” Sam shrugged, his long fingers running over the key. “Dean misses you too, Sam. I’m sure he’s anxious to come home.” Sam nodded and prepared to throw the key into the bowl of smudged sage, but Cas’s arm shot out stopping him. “The whole point of the sacrifice is that it must matter to the person making the offering. Dee has to do this.” 

Sam shook his head and shot a covert glance at Dee as the woman stepped up beside him. “I grew up in that car. It means something to me,” he said firmly. 

“You ready?” asked Dee. 

Sam’s mouth set in a grim line. “Let’s do this.” Cas took his hand from Sam’s wrist, and the taller man tossed the key into the bowl while Dee averted her eyes. 

She took the oil from the table and released the cork, pouring the rest of the contents over the only access she had to her beloved Baby with a thick gulp. The coin clinked out of the glass and landed, two heads up, in in bowl. All the while, Cas intoned harsh syllables in his guttural voice. Dee lit a book of matches and held them up, watching as the angel finished the incantation with a nod. At Cas’s signal, she dropped the matches, and the contents of the bowl were consumed with an orange and green flame.  
~*~  
_The flames reflected in green eyes, hazel eyes, and blue eyes, then without warning went out with an odd zipping sound. The hunters and the angel stared at the bowl for barely a second before sharing a glance and turning out to face the room. In a far corner, Donna Fredericks and Damon Carlson stood, their postures defensive._

_The god flickered into existence a few feet in front of Sam, his form flashing in and out like an angry spirit as it tried to gain purchase on this reality. “Portunes!” he called out in a loud voice, but the god raised a hand and sent the hunter flying before he could finish his sentence._

_Dean let out a howl of rage and drew his machete. “Do not kill him, Dean!” shouted Castiel, his hands reaching toward the god and his eyes glowing blue. The older hunter dropped the weapon to the floor and pulled out his gun, firing three shots into its shoulder. The god turned from Cas to face the hunter, flicking his wrist to pin Dean against the wall. Dean’s gun was thrown from his hand and slid across the floor. The angel took advantage of the distraction and began chanting in Enochian, his eyes and hands glowing white. A white aura surrounded the god, driving him to his knees._

_Released from their bonds, the hunters fell to the floor. Sam collapsed into a heap, his eyes closed. Dean scrambled to his feet and ran to his brother, checking his pulse. The angel spared Dean a glance, and the hunter nodded. Then Castiel turned his full attention back on Portunes._

_The angry god raised his hand and drew back his hood, one face watching the angel, the other the Winchesters. “Kill me and this keeps happening,” the head facing Castiel said. Its voice was rough and unused, but not as deep as the angel’s, or even as deep as Dean’s._

_Castiel continued to stand with his palms facing the god, but the light around his hands and the deity lost some of its brightness. “You were trying to close the portal between these worlds.” It was not a question, but Portunes nodded anyway. “We’re going to need it opened again, temporarily.”_

_When the god nodded his assent, Castiel released his hold, although his hands did not lower as the god stood. Officer Carlson stepped forward towards the god, still shielding Donna behind him. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “You’re real.”_

_Donna pushed in front of him. “This is fascinating,” she said, looking between the god, the siblings crouching in the corner, the angel, and the officer next to her, “but I would like to be in my own home, in my own bed, before I try to process what has happened here today.”_  
~*~  
Dee finally stood, walking towards the center of the room with her hands empty, palms out. “Hey, man. No hard feelings, ok? It was an honest mistake, thinking you were the cause of all this.” 

The face nearest to her scowled, but the far face laughed. “You are forgiven, hunter,” it said. “You are not the first to get the better of me. Although you may be the first murderer to try to bring me back themselves.” 

Sam grunted as he tried to pull himself to his feet. Dee offered a hand up, but he brushed her aside, using his own knee to push himself up. “Can you do it?” he asked the god, his voice tired, but carrying across the cavernous room. “Open the portal back up?” 

The god cocked his head to the side, a smug look on both faces. “Opening the portal is easy.” He clapped his hands and the blue lights reappeared, focused on just Damon and Donna. A gray pencil skirt became navy, sleeves that had been rolled up were now down and crisply ironed. “I apologize for your inconvenience,” he said, his voice bored and disdainful. “Do be more careful in the future. I’m hardly the worst thing out there, especially now.” With another wave of his hands, the two disappeared in a blue shimmer. 

“Where did they go?” asked Dee, stalking the god, machete back in her hand. “What the hell did you do to them? I swear I’ll cut your damn head off and stay here if I have to.” The woman was thrown back into the wall with a careless gesture on the god’s part, and Castiel raised his hands again, cowing the deity. 

“Relax, angel, she’ll be fine,” said the closest head. “I just sent them home, hunter,” the other head said. “I’m going to let you go, and you can call them and make sure everything is to your liking.” 

Dee slid to the floor again, but landed on her feet. She pulled out her phone, but Sam physically stopped her. “We have an angel on our team, Dee. He wouldn’t do anything to get himself killed, and we need him to send you home.” Dee put her phone away slowly, like a weapon she was unwilling to relinquish just yet. “What do you need to close this thing for good?” asked Sam. 

The god laughed, the white lights around him receding as he stood again to his full height. He pulled his hood over his back head, turning his whole body to face the hunters now. “From you? Nothing.” 

“From me?” asked Castiel, eyes glaring, mouth set in a grim line. He had lowered his hands and was no longer producing the glow that kept the gold-eyed being subdued, but his angel blade had appeared in the meantime. 

Portunes turned again and inclined his head toward the angel. “Also nothing, seraphim.” He spread his hands, taking in all of the team’s spell work and smiled greedily. “You have sacrificed to me, in a place of power, on my feast day. I am reborn.” The god then dropped his hands and turned swiftly to fix the hunters with a disparaging glower, his lips turning up into a sneer as he spoke. “Although if you had managed not to cut my head off, I could have had you back home that day.” 

Dee refused to back down. “Tell that to Officer Carlson, or Donna. If you could have sent me back, you could have done the same for them,” she spat. 

The god only shrugged. “They would not have believed,” he said simply. “Nor, I think, would they have had an angel of the lord at their beck and call to perform the ritual that would restore me to full power.” 

“Then do it,” said Castiel. “I have other work to attend to.” The god nodded and moved toward the table where the spell was set up. Castiel joined him and they were soon in whispered conversation, gesturing and moving things minutely among the ingredients.  
~*~  
_Dean sheathed his machete in the scrub pants and double checked the safety on his gun. Sam loomed over him, his eyes wide. “So...this is it,” he whispered._

_The smaller man’s movements stilled for just a moment, a muscle twitching in his jaw before he continued to ready himself for a trip back through the portal. “Guess so,” he said. His voice was strong._

_“You know, I always wondered what it would be like to have a brother,” said the taller hunter, leaning his back against the wall. “You’re so much like her.”_

_Dean managed a half laugh at that. “Well, according to Cas over there, I am her.”_

_Sam leaned one foot against the wall and looked down at his folded hands. “You took care of him...me. Like a dad. Dad wasn’t...”_

_Dean stopped and looked at Sam, trepidation on his face. Sam was taller than him, but with his bangs falling over his sideburns and eyes, Dean could imagine he was much younger again. His eyes widened and his face softened. He stepped in front of Sam and waited until their eyes met. “And your sister took care of you like a mother, Sammy. All the shit we had to go through, Dee and I, we’d do it again, in a heartbeat.” Sam’s mouth opened, his eyes flashing with emotion as the full weight of what he was saying sank in. He nodded understanding. “Let’s not get all weepy here, brother.”_  
~*~  
“Dee, we are ready,” called Castiel from across the room. The woman shot one last wink at Sam and patted each of her weapons to be sure they were in place before crossing to where Castiel stood. 

Pale blue light from the strange fire on the table flickered over the angel’s face as Dee approached. The firelight caught her green eyes and danced there for a second. “Thanks Cas,” she whispered, “for everything.” 

Castiel inclined his head in her direction. “Dean is necessary to our world, as I’m certain you are in yours.” Dee looked down at the floor, her cheeks turning pink. She shot an offended look at the fire before meeting the angel’s gaze again. 

“Listen, Cas… There’s another Castiel in my world, you know?” She paused to give him time to react, but he said nothing, his blue eyes locked on her green ones. “Alright. Well. I just,” she huffed a breath and fussed a hand through her hair. “Thanks for risking, you know… For me. Humanity. Whatever.” She searched Castiel’s face for any indication that he heard, but the angel just stared impassively. “My mom always said that angels were watching over me. And I kind of thought, growing up, it was a bunch of crap.” One corner of Castiel’s mouth turned down, but he made no move to interrupt. “But when shit went down, you did watch out for me. Sam and I don’t need ‘angels’ watching over us, Cas. We just needed one.” Dee looked down, breaking the staring contest, although Castiel continued to gaze at her. “What I’m trying to say is… If that Dean and I are so important, we couldn’t have done it...we wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you.” She looked up at his face, but wouldn’t meet his eyes. After a second’s hesitation, she took a step towards the angel, raised herself on her toes, and kissed his cheek. “We’re always gonna need our angel, Cas,” she said, cementing a grin underneath strained eyes as she turned and walked toward the blue lights. Just as she reached the lights, she turned back, the grin on her face real and cocky. “See you later, flyboy.” 

Sam was staring at her, trying to take in the display, when she caught his eye. “See you soon, Sammy.” She took another step until the edges of the blue light were skating over her skin. “And cut your damn hair, it’s longer than mine!” With that parting shot, she stepped through the lights, and Dean Winchester came out the other side. 

The hunter rolled his shoulders in relief, his eyes searching for his brother. “Sammy?” he asked, his voice thick with hope. 

A smile spread over the younger man’s face as he strode over to him, his arms wide in welcome until he reached Dean, wrapping them tight around his older brother. “You’re home.” The two embraced for a moment, oblivious to the onlookers. 

Dean’s fingers curled into his brother’s t-shirt, and his eyes shone in what was left of the dying firelight. “Yeah, thanks to you,” he said. 

Sam clapped his hand against Dean’s back brusquely twice before grabbing him by the shoulders and holding him at arm’s length. “You’re ok,” he observed, with half a smile. “You were a girl, Dean, it was so freaking weird.” 

Dean smirked. “Yeah well, imagine for me. You were you, but you didn’t even know me. Damn, Sammy.” He took a second to consider. “You could have been a girl though,” he said, swatting at the taller brother’s hair. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Will you stop calling me ‘Sammy’ already?” Dean shrugged, his eyes full of mischief. “Besides, that’s practically what she said just before she left. Right, Cas?” 

Both brothers turned to look at the angel, who had been intently studying the reunion with a strange look on his face. Dean’s cheeks tinged red. “Thanks, man,” he said, reaching out to shake Castiel’s hand, “We couldn’t have gotten her home without you...well, that you. I’m sure I wouldn’t be here without you-you.” The angel kept staring, and eventually Dean put his hand back down. “So, it must have been weird having a girl here instead of me,” Dean started, a hint of strain in his voice. “Chicks can be weird. All over emotional and stuff. I don’t know. Crazy right?” 

Cas stood straighter, his expression flattening out to one of impatient indifference. “As you say, Dean. It is good to have you back.” 

“Thanks for your help, Castiel,” said Sam. “I guess, we’ve got work to do.” 

“Son of a bitch!” said Dean, body slumping to the floor. Sam looked at him, confused. “Baby, Sam,” he lamented, reading the question in his brother’s face. “I can’t drive her anymore. She’s just gonna’ rust here. Her keys are gone.” 

Sam sighed. “You’ve pulled her apart enough times, Dean. You know where to find her key codes. We’ll have it replaced. I’m sure we can be out of here in a few days if you can get someone to lend you the right tools.” 

Portunes rose from where he’d been leaning against a support column. “I really shouldn’t, considering it was a sacrifice and all,” he said lazily, rolling his eyes, at least on the head that could be seen, “but I suppose, since I haven’t really been at full power in almost 150 years, I could offer you a boon.” He reached into the last of the blue flames which extinguished at his touch, and pulled out the twisted lump of metal that was all that remained of the Impala’s keys. His hands closed around it, and blue light leaked from between his fingers. When he opened his hands again, the key was new again. He held it out to Dean who stood to take it, but pulled it back at the last second. “Two conditions, Winchester.” 

“What?” 

“First, don’t cut any more god’s heads off, unless you actually know what they’re doing.” Dean rolled his eyes but nodded. “Second, save this world. I don’t even want to think about what happens to me if one aspect of me gets destroyed completely, cut off from all the others. Can you do that?” 

Dean looked at Sam, whose mouth was set into a grim line as he nodded. He turned to Castiel, who clenched his right fist below the sleeve of his trenchcoat, a reminder of the weapon he could pull out of thin air. When his gaze met Portunes again, his head twitched to the side for just a second before settling on the man’s gaze. “I honestly don’t know,” he said. “But we’re sure as hell going to try.” 

The god with the golden eyes nodded, and dropped the keys into the green-eyed human’s hand before disappearing. 

“Hey Cas, so what do you say we go and get a-“ Dean’s voice cut off abruptly as he noticed the angel had disappeared. “Or not,” he scoffed. “Suit yourself.” He looked up at his brother. “Come on, Sam,” he said, clutching the Impala’s keys tightly in his fist, as if he was afraid they would be taken away from him again. “I want to try one of those pork roll sandwiches before we leave here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness. I cannot believe this is finished. Seriously. Thank you to everyone who even considered reading, and my apologies to anyone who once tried to read the original version and gave up after I did. Kudos and comments are, as always, loved and appreciated.
> 
> There may be a non-canon-compliant epilogue to this story, if people are interested. It's simmering in the back of my brain.
> 
> Shameless plug for my next WIP (which actually has a posting schedule) [The Power Company](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7611160) a BDSM Destiel story. (I know, kind of the opposite of this one.)


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